


wretch

by chouhimes



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Depression, Eating Disorders, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Panic Attacks, Self-Destructive Behavior, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:20:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26228560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chouhimes/pseuds/chouhimes
Summary: being dragged down to the devildom was a nice change of pace for a while. the whirlwind of having to adapt to a new environment, accepting the fact that otherworldly beings actually exist, not to mention the insanity of their actual personalities and absurd schemes and interactions. a half dozen months of scheming, bonding, and multiple attempts on your life (though one was a bit more successful than a simple attempt) later, things have finally settled down. as much as they can in hell, anyway.and that’s the problem.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 104





	wretch

**Author's Note:**

> i cannot emphasize enough the fact that this is a deeply personal vent fic. i'm only sharing because i myself read fics like this in order to experience ~catharsis~, but if you feel like this is going to trigger you in any serious way please do not read it. keep safe.
> 
> i believe i've tagged everything relevant, but just to reiterate, this work contains both referenced and graphic depictions of: suicidal ideation, self-hatred, panic attacks, violence against the reader (spoilers for chapter 16 btw), self-harm, suicide attempts, eating disorders

it’s never been this bad.

you’re used to it for the most part. spent more than half your life dealing with all its fuckery and the consequences, but it’s all you can remember at this point. you don’t recall the last time you were genuinely in a position to say  _ i’m safe. i’m happy. _

it’s tiring. exhausting, even, though that doesn’t begin to cover the true scope of things either. 

whatever. you’re used to it.

being dragged down to the devildom was a nice change of pace for a while. the whirlwind of having to adapt to a new environment, accepting the fact that otherworldly beings actually exist, not to mention the insanity of their actual personalities and absurd schemes and interactions. a half dozen months of scheming, bonding, and multiple attempts on your life (though one was a bit more successful than a simple attempt) later, things have finally settled down. as much as they can in hell, anyway.

and that’s the problem. there’s really nothing that exciting happening. you’ve been dutifully attending classes, spending your downtime with a demon or two and...that’s it. with most of the major issues between all the brothers worked out, life is as normal as can be. 

it’s horrible. without the constant goal of slithering yourself into another pact or dodging some threats every once in a while, the stagnancy is eating you from the inside out. you start thinking. and thinking has never been good. 

you thought it had been bad in the human realm. an endless draining cycle of rotting at work, failing in school, and dragging yourself home to an empty apartment only to do it all over again the next day. no one and nothing to live for. without diavolo’s summoning, you have no doubt that you’d be in hell now anyway, though for different reasons. 

you’re not alone anymore, this is true. but your selection of companions have presented you with an entirely new set of bullshit to sort through. 

you interact with literal angels, demons, and other insanely powerful beings on a daily basis. and you’re just a human. that’s it. nothing special to you beyond your death-seeking recklessness that somehow hasn’t gotten you (permanently) wiped from existence. 

it’s not that they’re cruel or anything. the opposite, really-- once you all got past the misunderstandings and got to know each other a bit more, it’s become clear that the demons care for you, in their own way. but there’s always been a part of you that screams: 

_ they’re faking. it’s obvious they can’t stand you. they’re millenia old demons more powerful than anything you’ve ever encountered, they know how to deceive a stupid little human, how could you have the hubris to believe they entered pacts without anything in return. just wait _ .

it’s impossible to quiet this worry, and no matter how much you go shopping with asmodeus, or fall asleep watching tv with the twins, or wake up at two in the morning to get a headstart on the new event with leviathan, you can’t  _ really  _ trust them, can’t shake the paranoia.

the angels have always been, well...angels. since the second you were introduced simeon and luke have been nothing but kind and protective, if a bit aggressively so on the latter’s part. but there’s a distance. a painfully obvious and inherent difference between your races that’s impossible to bridge. they’re handcrafted by god himself, raised in the holiest of circumstances and possess an ethereal quality that you can hardly stand to be around, if only because you don’t deserve it. if you can’t get close to your demons because you can’t open yourself up to them, it’s the opposite for the angels. there’s a purposeful figurative arm length between you at all times, a refusal on their part to interact too intimately with you. you don’t think it’s because they dislike you or are wary of your soul and the weight of the sins now physically burned upon it, but you have accepted that they have a reason to keep themselves closed off from you. 

there’s solomon, but somehow the only other human in the realm has managed to combine the worst traits of both the demons and angels, possessing both a suspicious presence that keeps you from prodding too much and a blatant self-imposed solitude that would prevent you from truly connecting with him even if you did make the effort. not to mention the fact that his powers and the number of pacts he has in and of themselves places him so far out of your league you can barely bring yourself to speak with him in the classes you share. 

you’ve never been in constant contact with this many people in your life, and yet you’re more alone than you’ve ever felt. you think it might be a curse, but this is something you  _ do  _ deserve. 

it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, really, and you’re aware of this, excruciatingly aware as you turn down a cafe outing with satan, citing an unfinished essay that doesn’t actually exist, but it’s too late now. you’ve dug this hole with your asinine worries and self-loathing and inability to trust anyone and your only choice is to keep digging until you have a grave big enough to rest in.

**\----**

“is that all you’re eating?” beelzebub frowns at your plate, the normal hunger in his eyes replaced by concern. it’s a pitiful amount of food, you’ll admit that. but you won’t admit it out loud.

“i’m fine, beel. i ate not too long ago so i’m not really that hungry.” your smile is calming and you try to ignore the pang of guilt that comes with lying right to his face. 

“that’s what you said yesterday,” the skepticism in satan’s voice does nothing to help with the tightening in your chest. you scold yourself for being too careless.

“because i did it yesterday too. i keep grabbing some snacks for when i do my homework and then end up full by the time dinner comes around. i do it all the time back in the human world,” you pop a fork-full of food into your mouth to buy a few seconds to mold your voice into steadiness. “i won’t do it tomorrow, promise. i’m on cooking duty anyway, so.” 

with a quick smile, you gather your half-empty dishes and head to the kitchen to wash up. you hope no one notices the way your hands tremble on the way there.

\----

you sometimes have dreams about your death. that entire day is a blur, to be honest, but you can clearly recall dying, at least. you remember the sharp pain of your skull cracking against the wall. the pressure of his tail wrapped around your throat, the desperate attempts to try and steal even a single breath. you remember the indescribable horror of realizing he’d effortlessly pierced through your abdomen, eyes flitting down to see his claws dripping with your insides. you remember being flung over the stair bannister unceremoniously, strangulation no longer necessary with the wind knocked out of you entirely and coughed-up bile filling your airways. you remember laying crumpled on the ground, unable to see through your tears and unable to smell anything but your own blood and unable to hear anything but his excited laughter, marred by the ringing in your ears as you black out. 

you remember suddenly coming to, finding yourself standing on the stairs, looking on numbly as mammon cradled your broken corpse, and thinking:  _ why couldn’t i have stayed dead.  _

\----

leviathan passes you in the hallway, likely on the return from a snack run. you don’t want to ignore him, but you’re barely keeping together as is. you don’t need to burden him with your misery. he still manages to flag you down anyway.

“hey! that game i was telling you about a while back finally came out-- the simulation with randomized apocalypse scenarios from the same company that did the time-travel survival series? we should go ahead and play tonight and unlock some of the secret trials, everyone on the forums says they’re insane!”

he looks so excited. you know he’s been looking forward to this game for months, and you remember promising him you could play together when it released. you curse yourself even as you open your mouth to reject him. 

“i’m sorry, levi, i’m not really feeling up to it right now, plus lucifer wants to see me.”

seeing his expression collapse into embarrassment at having been turned down hurts you more than you can articulate. frustration smothers you and he turns around to hide his hurt. 

“oh...right...why would you wanna play such a stupid game with a loser like me? whatever...see you. sorry for bothering. have fun with  _ lucifer _ .”

\---

“this is the third test you’ve failed in the last two weeks,” lucifer’s displeasure is obvious in both his tone and the way he glances at you with open disappointment. 

you stay silent and move your gaze to the ground, too ashamed to keep eye contact. you knew this lecture was bound to happen sooner or later, but it doesn’t make it any less humiliating. you absently wish he would go back to threatening your life again, rather than have you suffer through talks you know are now based in concern and care.

“i’ve held off on saying anything as i’d hoped you would fix this on your own, but since you’ve also had the gall to skip multiple classes when your grades are like  _ this _ ,” he slaps the paper to his desk and stands, “discipline is clearly in order. you are not to leave the house for recreation, and i’m locking your d.d.d for everything but phone calls and messages. you will also be accompanied to the academy to ensure your attendance.” 

_ look at how much of a burden you are. all you do is inconvenience them. they’d be better off without having to babysit you. _

biting your lip, you nod, trembling in shame. he holds his hand out and you place your d.d.d in his palm without complaint. with a sigh, he turns back to sit at his desk again. there’s a pause, and you know he’s studying you. you keep your head down, praying he doesn’t have anything more to say.

“i expect you to spend your free time studying to make up for this. perhaps satan can assist you in the subjects you’re struggling in.”

a quiet  _ yessir, _ and you’re exiting his study. you know lucifer means well. it doesn’t stop you from breaking down and sobbing the second your door is closed behind you. 

\----

focusing in class is impossible. regardless of what you do, your mind continues to veer off into everything but the subject at hand. 

_ stupid bitch, can’t even sit down and use your brain for an hour. fucking useless. just kill yourself already. _

you scribble into your notebook, mindless shapes that piss you off when they come out uneven. there’s sixteen minutes left until classes end and one of your demons comes to walk you straight home. you wonder how long they’ll keep this up until they realize you’re broken and send you back to the human world.

your grades remain as abysmal as they were last week, not that it comes as a shock to you. you’re even more exhausted than you were when lucifer had called you into his study, and the combination of a lack of attention and uncontrolled irritability has pushed even satan into reluctance to help with your studies, the sessions tense and suffocating. 

_ it’s no fucking wonder he gave up on you. it’s obvious you’re a lost cause. all you did was waste his time and energy. worthless. _

mindless thoughts occupy you and before you know it you're free to go for the day. on your way down to meet with whoever has been tasked with escorting you today, you happen to pass by one of the windows overlooking a campus garden. it’s a beautiful display of some of the most rare and well cared for flowers in the devildom, and while it usually cheers you up at least a little, today all the sight does is fill you with bitterness. the groups of demons casually chatting and giggling amongst themselves, not a care in the world, causes envy to flare within you. why can’t you have that? why are you still stuck suffering day in and out with no hope of betterment in sight when these literal  _ demons  _ are having the times of their lives?

an annoyed call from mammon is your cue to hurry to the academy gates, but with the distraction having broken you from your reverie, you’re suddenly struck with hot shame at your own thoughts. those demons haven’t done anything to you. you don’t know what they’ve gone through. what right do you have to curse their happiness just because you can’t find your own? a churning nausea simmers in your belly.

_ what an awful, spiteful bitch. just go ahead and jump already. that’s all you deserve anyway. _

it's tempting. but despite your bravery throughout the dangers faced thus far, when it comes to the one thing you truly want to do, you're a pathetic coward. mammon grumbles half-heartedly about being forced to wait when you reach him, and you only have the energy to give him a similarly half-hearted smile and weak excuse about having used the bathroom. 

\----

you can’t do this anymore. it’s too much. it was a good try but you should have known from the very beginning that you wouldn’t make a decent exchange student. you were selfish in your want to experience something new and naive in your hopes that you could get through a measly year without fucking everything up. not only have you put yourself in a terrible position with your failure to bring up your grades, your relationships with the brothers are worse than ever. not that that’s their fault, either. you don’t even make the effort to keep up the act of normalcy anymore, completely shutting down at all attempts of socialization with flimsy excuses of excess homework and exhaustion. 

none of them have taken your withdrawal very well. half of them have taken it to mean they did something to wrong you and avoid you out of misplaced guilt. the others clearly take it as an affront and are doing fantastic jobs of perfecting their cold shoulders, even though you can see the hurt behind the walls they’ve put back up. the only demon who acts as if nothing abnormal is occurring is lucifer, who insists on having you eat at every family meal and treats you with the same brusque attitude as ever, but even he spends more time scrutinizing you with poignant worry in his eyes.

dinner is painfully uncomfortable. the brothers carry on with their normal conversations and petty bickering, but there’s always a veil of tenseness that stifles what should otherwise be a casual meal. you barely pick your way through a third of what’s on your plate before sighing and standing from the table. 

“i don’t feel too well. you can have the rest,” you slide the remains of your meal over to beelzebub, trying to avoid looking at his face. 

“nuh-uh, no way!” mammon butts in, startling you into glancing at him. “you’re weak enough as it is, human!”

the dig at your race pricks more than it usually does. you keep your response short to hide your sensitivity, not wanting to get into it with him. “i’m fine, mammon.”

a barely-audible growl raises goosebumps. “whatever then! see if i care when ya finally wither away!” 

he storms off, ignoring the scolding from a mortified asmodeus, and you’re left staring blankly at where he used to be sitting. you know he’s worried. you know he’s only saying these things because he’s hurt you’re brushing him off. this isn’t even the worst thing he’s said to you. but it’s enough in your already fragile state to tip the scales. 

the faint voices of the other brothers trying to say something to you register only as white noise as you wordlessly drag yourself to your room, locking the door behind you. the second you hear that click signaling you won’t be bothered, you crumple to the ground, vision already entirely blurred with your tears. 

it doesn’t matter how much time passes before you’ve finally emptied yourself and you’re left curled up on your side, feeling sweaty and drained and numb. the usual torrent of repulsive thoughts and revolting fantasies dam up and leave only one compulsion, a single suggestion echoing in the vast expanse of the emptiness within:

_ kill yourself. do it. now. _

for the first time the idea truly feels right. the  _ timing  _ feels right. the thought of finally being  _ done  _ with everything and ridding yourself of the pain that’s plagued you so violently all these years brings you a spark of rare genuine excitement. 

extracting yourself from the floor and wiping the remains of tears and snot from your face on your sleeve, you hastily stumble into your bathroom and tear open the drawer, hands shaking as you dig through the mess to find the pocket knife you keep there. you’ve only ever used it for mundane things like opening difficult packaging or snipping tags, but you know it will be sharp enough for this.

simply flipping it open and holding it in your palm triggers a rush you haven’t felt since belphegor mauled you.

_ do it. do it do it do it-- _

before you can double guess, you take a deep breath, holding it in as you slash along your arm several times in quick succession. the adrenaline pulsing through your veins dulls the sensation and you hurry to do the same to your other arm. for a few blissful seconds you’re filled with triumphant pride at having been able to  _ actually  _ go through with this. 

and then reality kicks in.

you did it. you  _ actually  _ did it. all the air you held during the process leaves in a shaky gust and your head immediately begins to swim, blackness creeping into your peripheral vision, a deafening ringing in your ears. 

_ you did it.  _

you can’t see. you can’t continue standing. vertigo increases gravity’s hold on you and you meet the ground. the breathing you halted before comes back with a vengeance, forcing your lungs to pull in air double time, yet it still feels like there’s no oxygen at your disposal. 

_ you actually did it. _

the tile is wet. your face is wet. there’s a dull throbbing on the side of your head. or is it sharp? you’ve never understood the difference. there’s blood, but not just on your arms. up by your head. your face is lying in it. blood. that’s what it is. your face is wet with  _ blood _ . you remember the open drawer. you must have hit your head when you fainted. 

_ i can’t believe you actually fucking did it. _

you still can’t pull in enough air, your sobbing obstructing the flow. are you really crying again right now?  _ are your fucking lungs even working? _ but wasn’t that the point? you don’t need to breathe. that was the goal. to stop. and now that it’s happening you have the audacity to bawl like a baby while laying in a pool of your own blood? pathetic. 

there’s a crash in the distance. one of your demons maybe? of course. they had to have smelled the blood by now. any second now they’ll bust into the bathroom and it’ll all be over. a failure to the end. can’t even kill yourself properly. 

**_what have you done?_ **

**Author's Note:**

> if you want some author verified information(TM) you are indeed unsuccessful in killing yourself and are instead given medical attention and visited bedside by the brothers one by one and have uncomfortable and upsetting but very much needed conversations with each of them eventually culminating in a hard but hopeful recovery. alas i likely will never get around to writing that so. also guess who the door breaker at the end is :)
> 
> [if you wanna find me on tumblr](https://tercxra.tumblr.com/)


End file.
